Life Support
by The Sylver Lining
Summary: Before #40. Gafinilan is dying. Now he has a choice: Follow his warrior's honor and take his own life, leaving Mertil defenseless and doomed to die - or linger on in horrible pain, endangering his beloved and living in disgrace. Yep, they're gay. Deal.


Note - Maybe I'm just an idiot, but for the life of me I can't figure out how to insert the thought-speak brackets. This site just hates them, I guess... so regular old quotation marks will have to do, even though the only characters here are two andalites who obviously... yeah, that's all. xD Carry on!

Life Support

They'd found him. The things that clawed at the edges of his nightmares were descending on him in a roar of fire and sound. The ground pitched, and sweet green grass erupted in torrents of flame, splashing the smothering dark with a sick glow the color of blood, of infection and Armageddon. Something caught and tore at his throat, squeezing the life out of him as the black pressed in like an ocean, a million atmospheres of black freezing and filling his lungs.

And hiding in the dark, monsters.

He was drowning in monsters – they, like the black water, slipped inside his eyes, his ears, his brain. His soul.

And now a voice cut through the roiling ocean in his head, screaming his name, shrieking in terror and agony. A wave of horrible, blood-and-guts-freezing panic swept over and through him as he fought his way toward the voice, pulling his limbs out of the grip of monsters.

"HELP! Gafinilan, they're here, they found me!" The familiar voice rocked through his head, pounded like a jackhammer. Awful to hear it so choked with fear, crying his name. "Help, they're coming-"

"Hold on!" He screamed in reply, struggling through something like freezing clay or suffocating mud that surrounded him. "I'm coming, hold on!"

And then he was running, he _could_ run, though the ground pitched and quaked beneath him. Running toward something he couldn't see – but now it rose above the dark and fire and shrapnel of a broken ship, a shattered city. A bright light, a spotlight that fixed on him even as it lifted away.

"NO! NO!" he screamed, incoherent with rage and panic and devastation as the light flew away and faded, leaving him alone in the crushing darkness.

The light faded, but the broken screams echoed and cut through his head. His own voice mingled with the cries of the precious one hidden by the awful light until they became one, just one continuous, everlasting wail of despair that came from everywhere.

It filled the world.

Until the world broke in two, and he lurched upright.

The silence and sleepy darkness was just as shocking, after the nightmare-chaos. No sound, except for his own ragged breathing. The soft scraping of his hooves against tile; jarring even as he knew he was the one making the sounds. Somewhere outside, muffled by drywall and highway white noise, a siren wailed in the night. Like the screams… Maybe that had been all it was, just a siren, incorporated into his dream.

There was no fire, the house wasn't burned to a skeleton of beams and scraps. No searchlights cut through the quiet suburban night. And there were no screams, no bloodcurdling shrieks ripping through his head.

Only the half-formed, sleepy thoughts of the one next to him, little mumbles and faint pictures of grass and stars, a brief impression of his own face. And the feeling of a question, one that wasn't even put into words. But then, they never needed words – the warriors' thought-speak bond was so complete and integral that actual words were often hindrances. Instead they saw the essence of the other's feeling in an instant, shared so much and so entirely, that Gafinilan often was unsure if his thoughts or emotions were really his own.

And right now, Mertil was three-quarters asleep, and wondering what in the world had his protector so rattled.

"It's all right…" Gafinilan sent a quiet murmur of calm and comfort across the surface of their joined thoughts. Gave him a soft sensation of gentle rocking, the memory of a sweet breeze that smelled like home. "Sleep…"

Mertil didn't need to wake up just now. He'd want to talk about what had sent the shock waves of fear rocketing through his companion's head. He'd want to make it all better, soothe Gafinilan with calm, gentle words and light touches – and if that didn't work, appeal to his substantial logical side. Point out all the circumstances in their favor, how the odds were approximately seven-thousand-five-hundred-to-one that they would be awakened some night by searchlights. Be jarred out of sleep by gun barrels at their heads. How it just made sense that they would be able to live on Earth undetected, until the invading threat was over and gone, and they were rescued.

Except that it didn't make sense. Nothing did anymore.

No one was coming to find them, and they were never gong home. Not a single person knew they were here – and while that meant they would go another day without being killed or enslaved, it also left no possibility of salvation. The only question now seemed to be which would come first, death or enslavement?

Not that it would come to that, of course. Not for him – Gafinilan would gladly take his own life before he would allow himself to fall to the enemy; the proud warrior in him demanded it.

He sometimes contemplated it, alone in the dark. As he did now. A swift, honorable suicide with his own blade, instead of the slow, excruciating death brought by disease. The specter that he'd lived with for years now, the thing that seized at his heart just as horribly as any nightmare.

He could feel it even now. A dull ache in his joints, a stiffness and tremble that grew as the day went on. Mornings were bearable – sometimes he could even wake up and smile at Mertil before the pain crept into his bones, and he remembered. Afternoons were slow marches into debilitation, until he could barely drag himself home. Nights were choking, gasping hours of torture, pain that brought the huge warrior to his knees, made him cry out and sob for breath. The only thing then that eased the pain was his homegrown _illsipar_ root, and even the effects of that painkiller were starting to fade.

And it would only get worse, until he could no longer fight or run, or toward the end even void his bowels at will. Along with the weakness would come blindness – he regularly frightened himself now by thinking his eyes were beginning to fail, before realizing the refrigerator light was burnt out, or the blinds fallen closed. They were still sharp, but they would dim, the end would come. Gafinilan would die in paralyzed misery, Mertil forced to watch and mourn him even while he lived. Able to do nothing.

No, it never would come to that. Gafinilan would kill himself before he reached that point, before each breath became agony, before he came a burden – or worse, a hazard – to his beloved.

And when that warrior's determination took over, when he saw the goal and the method to attain it, only one thing stayed his blade at his own throat. The thought that in ensuring Mertil wouldn't have to take care of him, there would be no one to take care of or guard Mertil.

So he had the devil's choice. Linger on in disgrace and unbearable suffering, or leave his beloved alone in a hostile world, as surely sentenced to death as Gafinilan himself. He clenched a fist, twisting his upper body in a controlled writhe to ease the ache he felt coming on already. He just had to move, had to use his muscles for something while he still could.

Now he longed for something to abuse. An armed assailant, an enemy with murder in his eyes, something Gafinilan could fight. Not this disease, this inevitability, _damn it, give him something he could –_

"You're doing it again," A soft voice cut into his internal rage.

"What? I'm not doing anything!" Gafinilan started, more harshly than he'd intended. Preoccupied, he had neglected to keep his bitter frustrations and fears private. They'd flowed easily into Mertil's consciousness, of course, and Gafinilan cursed to himself – that he _did_ keep private. "Go back to sleep," he said more gently.

"You're torturing yourself again." Mertil blinked at him slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sleepy dark. "It'll be all right, you know."

Gafinilan said nothing. With Mertil awake and present in their mind link, he didn't have to. He couldn't lie, and there was no need to explain. Just knowing that was a comfort. Now, he was anchored. Gafinilan was still a kite in a windstorm, but now he was tied to something solid. Hadn't Mertil always been the one to bring him gently back to solid ground?

But the wind still raged around them, they'd soon penetrate the little eye of the storm, their small circle of calm and safety. And it scared him.

"I had the dream too, Gafinilan." Mertil quietly edged closer. The movement was probably unconscious, automatic – and just as automatically, Gafinilan's hand went to Mertil's face, stroking his hair and coming to rest on the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? It was a nightmare. No one can decide what they dream. And it's rather hard to keep one's thoughts to oneself when one is... dreaming it." He raised his shoulders and let them fall, an alien gesture picked up from watching the people of this planet over the months with the things called 'television' and 'satellite dish'.

"I know, but…" Gafinilan still somehow felt responsible.

"It might have been mine, anyway. Maybe I'm the one giving you nightmares."

Gafinilan frowned in the dark. That was somehow even worse. Had it been Mertil's nightmare of being captured after all, fearing that Gafinilan would be powerless to save him? Did he really worry that deeply, despite his outer calm, treating their situation almost lightly?

It was a disaster that could so easily come to pass – but just as likely was that Gafinilan's illness would cause him to make some unforgivable blunder, and bring discovery and death upon them sooner. And God, if that – if Mertil's death were on his hands, he would never forgive himself. The decision slipped back into his brain and took hold again – he would die before then, better to –

_"Don't even think it."_ Mertil cut in, voice still soft but with an undertone of steel.

"I'm not thinking anything. I'm trying to sleep," Gafinilan said flatly, slamming the door on his dark thoughts, shoving them to a far corner of his brain where Mertil couldn't get to them.

"Gafinilan." Mertil just looked at him, a strange, joyless smile in his eyes. Gafinilan didn't like that look, it was too cynical – it didn't suit him. "Are you really going to start lying to me now? You aren't fooling me, nor have you for some time." He didn't speak unkindly, but Gafinilan still couldn't meet his eyes.

"I do not want to talk about it."

"I know."

"It's a long way off, anyway. There's no point in worrying about it yet."

"But you do, every night." A soft hand ghosted through his hair. "You tear yourself up, imagining the very worst horrors, and impossible escape routes, and disasters. You look at your hands and your blade and you see my blood on it already -"

"Mertil!" Gafinilan protested, stricken.

"Just listen. Even if you don't want to talk, just listen."

So Gafinilan was silent.

"I can't watch you kill yourself slowly anymore. So far, I've stayed quiet, given you the privacy you want and deserve. But after a point… you're just doing too much damage to yourself, beloved. It's no good for you, or for me."

"What do you want from me, Mertil?!" Even in his head, Gafinilan's sharp words sounded frightened. "You see the realities just as clearly as I do. You know that every day we stay alive here is a miracle. That my days are numbered… and that number is getting smaller faster than I can even see."

"Yes, I do." Mertil replied simply.

"And that the day will come soon when I'm a weight around your neck – or worse, a danger."

"You will never, _never_ be a burden-"

_"I will not be the reason for your -!"_ Gafinilan blurted, then cut himself off. He stayed quiet for a moment, breath coming with difficulty as the familiar pain flared up deep within him. Then he tried again. "I can't help but see the entire picture. I can't help but see what is going to happen, and… what do you want me to do? I cannot ignore the fact that one day, everything is going to come to an end, and there is only one way out that I can see -"

"Your _suicide_ is not a way out, it's unthinkable -"

"It is the only option! I will not be the thing that kills you, I will not be made an invalid and force you to be my nursemaid! I will not linger on in disgrace -"

"Disgrace?!" Mertil flared for the first time. "Staying alive, staying with me is a disgrace to you? Why, why is it -"

"Damn it, you don't understand!" Gafinilan almost shouted, actually stamping the ground.

There was a sudden rush as something snapped through the air; Gafinilan felt the wind on his face. His eyes widened as he realized what he was looking directly at, and he averted his eyes in horror.

"No, look. It's all right to look, you know." Mertil said flatly. It hung in the air in front of Gafinilan's face – the ragged, severed end of Mertil's tail. The blade was long gone, its gleaming severity and power lost in the rubble and shrapnel of a dead ship. He was not dangerous now. He was not powerful, or dominant, or anything at all. The castration of that blade had left him an untouchable. Without that little piece of bone and organic metal, he was nothing – less than nothing, a negative, and Gafinilan would be seen as sullied simply by associating with him.

"Disgrace… is something I understand very well." Mertil said, but not bitterly. Thoughtful, if anything.

"Then you, of all people, should understand." Gafinilan almost pleaded.

But Mertil didn't seem to hear it. "Do you know what this taught me, Gafinilan?" he turned his half-dead tail around, looking at it from all angles with an almost scholastic interest.

"What?" Gafinilan asked, not seeing that he had much of a choice.

"That it doesn't matter anymore." But it wasn't a statement of resignation or despair – in fact, he sounded joyful, freed.

"I do not understand." Gafinilan frowned.

"Think about it. If the war were over tomorrow, and our troops came down amid fanfare and celebration, and we were the absolute winners of this planet, this history... do you think we would be welcomed home?"

"I…"

"You know the answer. Oh, we might be acknowledged for our presence here during the conflict, maybe given some token award… but after that, our names would be forgotten, purposely. Scribbled out, erased. And why?" He gave the end of his tail a little shake. "Because of this."

"It doesn't change a thing!" Gafinilan said, sounding even more defensive on Mertil's behalf than his own. "Tail or no tail, you are the bravest warrior I have ever known, and -"

"Do you think that matters to them? There is _nothing_ for us at home, don't you see? Honor be damned!"

"_Mertil!"_ Gafinilan exploded, nearly incoherent with shock. "How can you say this?!"

"Because this taught me something else!" Mertil said passionately, seizing Gafinilan's shoulders and looking directly into his eyes – all four of them. "That some things are more important. More important than a tail, or honor, or even life! That the only thing that matters is that you are still here, and that you stay here, with me!"

Gafinilan was struck dumb – even with their exceptionally strong telepathic link, he couldn't form words or even latch onto one solid feeling. This was too much, he was reeling too hard… and finally he broke down. Closed his eyes and slumped, letting himself for a brief moment be overwhelmed.

Finally, he spoke in a faint whisper, a tiny, sad ripple across their souls like a deep and shared pool. "I cannot escape… from the fact that one day, soon, one way or certainly another… we will be separated. And that is the real nightmare. The one I cannot ever awaken from." He took a long, ragged breath, feeling the tips of his fingers begin to tremble. "So… what do I do? How can I fight this, how can I make this… What do you want from me, Mertil?"

He'd asked that question before. But now it was raw and vulnerable for the first time. "Please… tell me."

A few long moments of silence stretched between them. A helicopter thrummed far overhead and they both shifted uneasily, well used to the constant paranoia that life was now made of.

"I want," Mertil spoke slowly, after a long time. "You to remember that the nightmare isn't all there is. That I'm still here. You're still here. _That you do not need to be forgiven, because there is nothing to forgive._ I want you to stop thinking so much about dying that you forget to live. Do you realize what a gift it is that we've survived so far, that we have not been separated yet? That we still have time to be present and together, and there are memories that we haven't made yet?"

Gafinilan couldn't answer. Something in his brain couldn't make the words come – and he didn't even want to. Just hearing Mertil's thought-voice was enough.

"I want you to stay here and _be_ here, with me. And believe me when I say that I don't need a miracle, they can keep their miracles. I don't care if the cavalry ever comes, just as long as you're here. That all that matters…" He picked up Gafinilan's larger hand in both of his, pressed it to his chest. "Is this."

A long shudder went through Gafinilan's body, and he leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against Mertil's. He just hung there and breathed deep, feeling the waves of calm and love and impossible joy, freedom and one-ness come streaming over him like sweet currents of water. The link between them delivered life support to his wracked body and soul, an IV drip of neverending love, a painkiller more potent than any root.

They stayed that way until the morning came, and life's rusty gears ground back into painful motion. The nightmare wasn't dead, the monsters still clawed and snapped at them when the lights went out. But for a few precious hours, they were two grounded kites spinning in the wind together, beneath forgiving stars.


End file.
